


All the King's Men

by ace_of_sol



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Dead People, Drama, F/F, Fantasy, Gaslighting, Gen, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Magic, Multi, Mystery, Original Mythology, Original work - Freeform, Secrets, Sexuality Crisis, Spirits, Unsupportive Parent, Villains, Villains POV, Villains to Heroes, sexuality denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28537224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_of_sol/pseuds/ace_of_sol
Summary: We’ve all read the classic stories about how the hero saves the world. The same rinse and repeat tale designed to envelop our imaginations with thoughts of one-sided evil. But what if the tables were turned and the villain is the one we sympathize with? Life isn’t black and white and issues live within our issues. It’s time to see the entire perspective.
Kudos: 1





	All the King's Men

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original work that has been in development for about a year now. Keep in mind, I’m only fourteen and am in no way a professional. I sincerely hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> -Much Love, Sol

By the time the sun had set, the thick blanket of snow had continued to knit itself. It covered the thick stone brick walls of the shack and only seemed to grow. Outside of the window in which I sat, the snow on the shivering pines gently sparkled with the glistening light of the pale moon. Even with the blizzard howling, the warmth of fire crept silently through the cabin. The heavy wooden sides plastered with stone kept the home insulated with warmth rather than the inhospitable chill. Even inside of the cozy burrow, I could tell there was a bitter frost yet to bite its next victim.  
My sharp vision gradually became a dull mesh as a headache started to run its course of meaning. I had grown accustomed to the sharp pain every so often, but with every down, there has to be an up. Right? Maybe it would be an advantage in some other world where the ability of each person was obsolete. But with me? I guess I just had to be special, didn’t I? After escaping the pond of my pitiful tears, I stood up from the maroon couch. Dragging my feet, I sauntered into the kitchen. My eyes gazed over the assortment of the various pots and pans that had belonged to the previous (now dead) owner. Near the sink stood a simple cup lined with glittering golden rims.  
I hesitated for a moment. I peered back around the entrance to the kitchen through the doorway. Without a second thought, I searched throughout the cupboards for a kettle. After rummaging around for quite a while, I was able to scry one up. I headed over to the sink, the water from the faucet dripping uniformly with each breath I took. Setting the kettle under the tap, I turned the knob and it began to slowly fill. The water came to a halt as my hand reached to cease the constant flow of water. I moved over to the stove near my left-hand side, the wooden floors creaking eerily as I shuffled around. The stove was cast of iron and had certainly passed the test of time. At its foot lay a casket of wood. I turned my head once more.  
Sighing, I took one of the old, dry logs and held it in my hand. I ran the bark through my fingers. Tossing the wood back into the pit, I rested my hand on the pile. Making sure to steady my breathing, I closed my eyes. With one persevering breath, I ignited the fire. I guess if there were one thing that made me who I am, it would be this. At the same time, it’s a curse. With fire, I provided warmth, protection, and light. But at the same time, it’s always the closest ones who end up getting burned.  
I removed my hand from the burning pile, watching the flames consume the planks. The water began to steadily come to a boil. Shaking, I went back into the front room to search for what I had. I’m glad I always remember what to pack during a runaway because, without my skills, I wouldn’t make it past the front gates of the castle from which I (previously) lived. I sat on my haunches as I continued searching throughout my satchel, opening each pocket and zipper. Finally, I was able to find my assortment of tea. I opened up the small compartment, grabbing my favorite. Jasmine. With a heavy sigh of relief, I crept back over to the kettle on the stove. The water bubbled dangerously. Just the way I like it. Carefully, I picked the gold-lined clay cup, placing the teabag in it. I grabbed the kettle, watching the beautiful stream of steaming water cascade down into my cup. This is just how I liked it, isolated alone with my tea.  
I wandered back over to the couch, where I slowly sipped my beverage. Days like this make me remember who I am, not what people want me to be. Everything here was so perfect, from the serene forest landscape to the beautifully carved timber walls inside of the house. I admired the simplicity of the gaslit lamps and the hand-stitched blankets. It’s a shame because I’m positive that I know the fate of the owner of this place. It’s all so strange, knowing that people are conscious of their own life and not just yours. I know who I am, and others know too. But these people? They didn’t have people knowing or someone meticulously planning each move out for them like a pawn.  
It’s hard to let go, especially. During times of war, where crimson blood stained the verdant land and where a soldier fought a war that was not their own. It only became their own when they decided where their loyalties truly lie and who they believe is the good in the abyss of evil. Then, you have conflict. Fights are illustrated with paints made from tears and ash fallen in the snow. It was a cycle. I know that I would have to be the one to break it. I’d have to go about it my own way.  
The earliest day I can remember from my childhood was the day that my father brought me out onto the fields. He had just captured the land. The faint glint of shining plates of armor dotted the dim landscape like stars in the night. Each soldier a fallen star lost to the world. Just another piece in everyone’s games. I was seven at the time, it has been seven years since then. But something deep inside me can still remember it.  
The sharp smell of smoke and the ash that flaked down like fallen snowflakes, it felt like it was just yesterday. I stood on the course blend of dirt and sparing patches of thin grass, overlooking the field. My eyes glazed over with a familiar feeling of both melancholy and slyness as I would stare at the barren scape.  
“Well, we did it.”  
I looked up. He was at my side. My father. His firm, towering build rested at my side, quivering with a fit of passionate ecstasy. His piercing emerald eyes ignited with prowess like a forest fire.  
“We finally took the ruins. Take a close look, Razya, because one day I know you’ll do some,” he paused with staccato, his sleekly sly grin growing, “Well, I know what you’re capable of.” His fist clenched at his side, muscles rippling. He cocked his head to his side, teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he watched over the ruins, now the final resting place of thousands of soldiers.  
I breathed in, hesitating for a brief moment. I drew my eyes away from his unrestful gaze. With a heavy sigh, I finally spoke.  
“Are you sure this is right?” I breathed, my voice barely a hushed whisper carried away by the wind.  
I wish I knew better. He snapped. His body shifted towards me as he grabbed my face. I could feel the sweat from his fingers.  
“Listen. Never question my authority. You know what I can do to you, and you won’t like it.”  
My breathing became staggered as I pulled away from him, nearly tripping into the soil. My body temperature rapidly rose. I charted a route to escape from through the thick line of trees that ran between the moor and remaining woods. I charged off.  
Over time, I learned to accept that my father was right. After all, he was the king. It was his word against mine. As fate would have it, I developed my talents and became next in line to take over this place. Father taught me everything I know, and I know when I get to it, I’ll be ruling with a fist made of pure iron just the way I was told.

**Author's Note:**

> Well there it is I guess. It’s probably short but this is just the start! Thank you for reading!


End file.
